


The Adventure Of The Abominable Merridew

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [49]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Assault, Boats and Ships, F/M, Injured Sherlock, M/M, Politics, Sabotage, Slavery, Slow Burn, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 11:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15363855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Sherlock's life is in danger as he again delves into the slave trade, forcing Watson to confront those horrible Feelings thingies.





	The Adventure Of The Abominable Merridew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lolllie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolllie/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

Apart from the vile Professor Moriarty now rotting in a deserved Hell, my brother encountered many criminals of the sort whose presence doubtless made one feel the need to take a bath after meeting them in order to wash off the foulness emanating from their character. Kevan once asked him which criminals he regarded as the most vile amongst those he had dealt with and he named three such. There was the 'philanthropist' Mr. Carew down in the Scilly Islands and two others from cases which both involved the evil slave trade; Mr. David Adams from the Manor House case and Mr. Richard Merridew of the abominable memory.

'Abominable' is, in my opinion, not a harsh enough term.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

It was barely a week after the conclusion of the Nonpareil case that two visitors came to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson could only tell us that she thought at least one of them was a sailor of some sort (a nephew of hers served in the Royal Navy and she would know a tar) so Holmes asked her to show them both up. Although when they entered the room I sensed a sharp change in his attitude.

“Mr. Lowen Trevelyan”, he said warily. “What brings _you_ here?”

That seemed rather rude I thought, especially as the young blond fellow he was addressing looked harmless enough. He was in his late twenties and handsome in a boyish sort of way. The older man with him who had to be in his forties was obviously the seaman from his weather-beaten face.

“Be not alarmed, Mr. Holmes”, the young man said. “I am not here in any connection with Mr. Carew.” He hesitated before adding, “the _late_ Mr. Carew.”

Holmes looked at him uncertainly.

“I wired home to make sure”, the young man said, “and a fellow fisherman of mine went out to Annet. Mr. Carew died last year and was buried in the monastery grounds. I thought I had better check when I knew that I might require your services, or at least Marty here would.”

_(I would later find out that the man was referring to what became known as The Adventure of the Repellent Philanthropist, which Holmes had undertaken in early 'Eighty-Six whilst I had been in the United States in pursuit of my first wife. It seemed a lifetime ago)._

“You are a sailor, sir?” Holmes asked the older man.

“I am, sir”, he said. “Martin Ford, late of Her Majesty's Ship _”Beneficent”_ recently returned from patrol in the China Seas.”

I poured them both a drink and the two gentlemen made themselves comfortable on the sofa. I noted how close they were sat together.

“I remember you saying when we came back from Cornwall that you need all the facts for any investigation”, the young man began, “so this is how it is. Your brother's reputation in the business that he and Kean – Mr. Hardland– run is because he treats boys like me right. The house in Poplar where I work has a separate set of rooms around the back for both those who are fallen on hard times, and also for sailors returning to England. And contrary to what the good doctor is currently thinking, one of the first thing Marty does when he comes home is sleep for twenty-four hours straight.”

I blushed fiercely. I had been thinking.... that.

“This last time Marty's been having nightmares”, Mr. Trevelyan said. “Mr. Sherrinford coaxed the truth out of him - he's good at that - and suggested asking you to take an interest in the matter.”

“We came back through the Suez Canal, sir”, Mr. Ford said, “then through the Mediterranean. We were almost at Gibraltar when we came across a strange ship flying the Ottoman flag. She was called the _”Imperator Ricardus”_ , so naturally she became 'Emperor Dick' to the lads. And she was a slave ship!”

To say that I was astonished would be an understatement. Her Majesty's Government had quite rightly outlawed the evil slave trade at the start of the century, abolishing slavery itself a few decades later. Ever since then, the Royal Navy had been patrolling the world's oceans and gradually forcing the business ever back into the dark corners it had emerged from, mostly the Mohammedan countries of Africa and the East. Even there the British influence was attacking it; the forthcoming exchange with Germany of the island of Heligoland off the North Sea coast for Zanzibar and Wituland in East Africa was being arranged primarily to attack the trade from the latter areas.

“Where did the slaves come from?” I asked. I was not prepared for the answer.

“Ireland!” Mr. Ford said grimly.

British slaves?

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Holmes promised both men that he would investigate their case as a matter of urgency. I waited until they were gone, the elder man visibly leaning on the younger as they left, before I spoke.

“Will you ask your brother Mycroft for help?”

Holmes shook his head.

“Besides the fact that he is less than happy with my conduct over the Nonpareil Club”, he said, “I am all but certain that he knows of this business already. Indeed he may even feel inclined to come round and ask me to cease investigating it.”

“But why?” I asked. “Slavery is evil!”

“Governments do not care about good and evil, only surviving through the next election”, he said. “No, I shall approach Middleton's and see if Miss Richards can work her magic once more.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Miss Richards was indeed willing to assist us although unfortunately Miss Day was not available as she was 'abroad on business'. Instead the company dispatched a Miss Goring, who reminded me very much of a Victorian nanny. I could not but help sit up straighter in her presence to the visible amusement of a certain detective.

“The man you seek is one Richard 'the Roman' Merridew”, Miss Goring said, pursing her lips in disapproval. “Fifty-one years of age, part-Welsh and part-Turkish, and worst of all a slave-trader with us barely ten years from the next century.”

“I do not understand why Mr. Ford's ship did not stop him” I said. 

“It is something to do with where they take the slaves, is it not?” Holmes asked. Miss Goring nodded.

“The British government is treading carefully just now”, she said, “especially with the forthcoming European conflagration, wherever and whenever it finally erupts. The island of Samarra lies a short distance north of the Ionian Islands, which this country unwisely gave back to Greece in 1864. The Adriatic is a politically sensitive area, what with Italy and Austria-Hungary as well. When war finally breaks out – and your brother is I fear right in his forebodings on that, Mr. Holmes – then having a naval base there will be of great import, especially if Great Britain finds itself fighting the Ottomans.”

“But the Ottomans are our allies”, I objected, “and we have spent the past century trying to save them from the Russian Bear!”

“Constantinople can be used to make many words, but gratitude is not amongst them”, Miss Goring said primly. “Mr. Merridew is making use of a 1524 treaty between the island's king back and that dreadful King Henry the Eighth. Basically it allows the King of Samarra – who these days is a mere vassal of the Ottoman Empire - to grant one licence a year to merchants. Their diplomatic immunity renders them untouchable.”

“But if they stopped this man, would not another licence be issued to someone else?” I asked.

“He would have to be stopped in such a way as to deter anyone taking his place”, Miss Goring said. “Although I am sure that your brother Mycroft would help arrange certain matters if asked. He actually came round to the office yesterday, and Miss Richards made it _quite_ clear to him that she was Displeased!”

And she is the sort of lady whose Displeasure was not advisable for one's health, I thought wryly. Or one's continued existence. Perhaps Mr. Mycroft Holmes might annoy her sufficiently to.....

“So we cannot touch the man directly without risking a diplomatic incident near a major trade route”, Holmes said, looking sharply at me for some reason. “And with a country that we do not – for now, at least - wish to alienate. I see the problem. May I know when he was granted his current licence?”

“They always run from the start of the year”, Miss Goring answered, “so the 'emperor' will need to be back on Samarra by the end of the month. The licence only has any force if it is granted by the island's current ruler in person.”

“How are they even getting citizens of the Empire out from under our very noses?” I asked. “It is barbaric!”

“His ship sails from Liverpool”, Miss Goring explained, “and goes right round Ireland finishing at Queenstown before heading home. Stopping him whilst he is licensed would cause an international incident, and with the situation abroad as it is just now that is not something that Great Britain is prepared to do.”

Especially as it is just Irish slaves, I thought cynically.

“To be fair one must also consider the Irish coastline, doctor”, Holmes said. “You will recall that it is perforated with dozens of inlets and small bays. With the current demands on Her Majesty's fleet, they cannot spare a ship to shadow the “Imperator Ricardus” on the off-chance that she slips into one, and even if they could they could not then stop her unless they caught her catching people. When does the ship next sail?”

“The tenth, a week today”, Miss Goring answered. “That will get her to Oteria, the capital and only major port of Samarra, on the twenty-sixth.”

Holmes grinned and turned to me.

“Doctor”, he said, “it looks like we may be travelling this festive season!”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I was surprised when Holmes asked me if I could be free to travel north on the tenth, the very day that the slave-ship sailed, but I guessed that he must have had his reasons. Those quickly became apparent when we arrived in the docks of the Lancashire port city to find the ship not only still there but with a large gash running all the way down one side. 

“What happened?” I wondered.

“The _“City of Bath”_ collided with her as she left this morning”, Holmes explained.

I looked at him in surprise. How could he know that?

“Mycroft paid the other ship's captain”, he grinned. “The damage looks to be a little less than I might have hoped but we have other plans for that.”

We spent most of the afternoon questioning an assortment of dock labourers on the quayside, most of whom were surly and uncooperative. The few that would talk were, I noted, handsomely recompensed for their time and courtesy but I did not see that Holmes learnt much and said so after we had checked into a hotel for the night.

“I did not expect to learn anything much”, Holmes said. “That was not the point of the exercise.”

“Then what was the point?” I asked, a trifle irritably. It had snowed for much of the day, and the weak fire in the tavern where we were drinking was doing little to make things better. I was freezing!

“I wished Mr. Merridew to become aware of my interest in his dealings”, Holmes said. “Once that happens he will realize that the collision this morning was no accident and that the British government is endeavouring to prevent his return to renew his license before the end of the month. He has been more than a little foolish to trade this late in the season.”

“Then what?” I asked, rubbing my hands together. 

“What would you do in his position?” Holmes countered.

“Get home as quickly as possible”, I said. “Take a train – hire a special if I could afford it – to London, get across the Channel and head down to Italy to make the crossing to Samarra. The British government could do little once he is in a foreign country, though they might get him at the sea-crossing to his homeland.”

Holmes shook his head.

“Mr. Merridew is smarter than that”, he said. “Trains crash, and he will know for certain that a government that can send a ship hurtling into his is quite able to cause such an accident, particularly to a special where there are no innocent civilians affected. A rail removed by some 'vandal', and a crash would be assured. No, he will take to the seas where he knows he cannot be challenged and can see any danger coming. There are three ships leaving Liverpool today or tomorrow that would serve him. The _“Redgauntlet”_ sails to Belfast and then across to Stavanger and the Baltic. That is a dangerous option however, as he would not reach Lübeck until early on the twenty-sixth, leaving him little more than five days to cross Europe from top to bottom. Possible with our modern railways but risky, although the number f different routes might make it attractive. Then there is the _“Wizard of Avalon”_ , which calls in at Gibraltar en route to the Canary and Azore Islands. He would reach the Rock on the twenty-first giving him a clear ten days, enough for a land trip most of the way home or a straight sea journey. Again a lot of options and it would be difficult to cover all of them. And finally the _“Isinglass”_ which Is headed to Cherbourg, but calls all the way round Ireland first so does not reach France until the twenty-fifth. Not much nearer to home than Lübeck for only one extra day in hand. It is my belief that he will choose the _“Wizard of Avalon”_.”

“So he will still make it home in time”, I said. Holmes smiled knowingly.

“Regretfully for Mr. Merridew all three captains are in Mycroft's pay”, he said. “Whichever route he takes he will encounter further problems. I guarantee it!”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The following day, Holmes was proven right when we learnt that the _“Wizard of Avalon”_ , due to leave on the fourteenth, had acquired an additional passenger. We were on the quayside that day to watch from a safe distance as the abominable Merridew – dressed, as Miss Goring's files had said he would be, quite ridiculously in a suit with an imperial purple sash - boarded his new ship, and we waited some hours until it had sailed and was just a small dot on the horizon.

“So are we going to Gibraltar to put further pressure on him there?” I asked as we walked back to the station (I drew the line at another night in that freezing hotel). 

“We shall return to Baker Street and await developments”, Holmes said. “I have a notion that this man is a cut above our average criminal. The ship has only one call to make before Gibraltar, at Queenstown in Ireland, but I would be certain that the man is still on board after that. He is a slippery fish.”

Just how slippery emerged when we received a telegraph from the captain of the _“Wizard of Avalon”_ the next day, informing us that 'Mr. Richard Merridew' was no longer a passenger aboard his ship. Mr. Mycroft Holmes came round later that day, and told us that the man had caught a train across Ireland to Westport, where presumably he planned to intercept the _“Isinglass”_ on her way round the island. The lounge-lizard was furious.

“My superiors think that I am an idiot for being duped like this!” he growled. “Honestly brother, I do not know why I agreed to help you in this case.”

From the sudden tension in the air I knew instinctively that Holmes was angry. 

“We are clearly keeping you from Her Majesty's business, Mycroft”, he said coldly. “Good day.”

His brother seemed to belatedly realize that he had crossed a line. He looked up in surprise.

“Holmes....”

“Good. Day!” Holmes snapped, raising his newspaper to indicate that the meeting was at an end. 

His brother hesitated, but left. I waited until he had gone before speaking.

“Ungrateful man”, I muttered.

Holmes chuckled.

“What is it?” I asked. He lowered his newspaper and looked at me.

“I was thinking that too often these days I underestimate you”, he said softly. “And that you may have been right about that man after all.” 

He stood up sharply.

“Would you be amenable to another train journey of some length?” he asked.

“Abroad?” I asked. He shook his head.

“Not as such.”

I stared at him in confusion.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

It was December the sixteenth, a day which would prove fateful (and nearly fatal) in my friendship with Holmes. A cab took us to Paddington where Holmes purchased two first-class tickets for New Milford in Pembrokeshire. As per his instructions I had packed a small bag and my revolver. The day was bitterly cold again but the snow had not come yet. 

Our train rumbled across England then through the Severn Tunnel into Monmouthshire before finally entering the Principality of Wales. Holmes kept checking his watch and I asked why.

“I am thinking that Mr. Merridew is going to arrive off the ferry from Cork and Waterford”, he said. 

“But he has gone to Westport which is on the west coast”, I objected. Holmes shook his head.

“You forget that his ships call regularly at Queenstown”, he said, “and such a man would doubtless have agents there. It is my belief that one such disguised himself as his master, and the two swapped coats at Cork, the former then ensuring that he was followed northwards. Fortunately Mr. Merridew would have missed the connection yesterday, and today's ferry between that port and New Milford gets in less than half an hour after this train so we cannot afford to be late.”

The Great Western Railway lived up to its name however, and our express reached the Pembrokeshire port station exactly on time. 

“What are you going to do?” I asked. “He still has days to run on that damn license of his. We cannot arrest him.”

“I wish to make sure that he boards the return express”, Holmes said. “You will stay and monitor the platform, and once the train has left you can send a telegram to Mycroft as to what has happened. If he alights between here and London, I shall follow him and again let my brother know.”

I looked at him anxiously.

“Be careful”, I said. 

Alas he was not.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The express was the penultimate train of the day, and since the local afterwards would only get me as far as Carmarthen before trains ceased for the night, I checked myself into a small local hotel before returning to the station in time for the ferry's docking. I was more than a little alarmed when the rotund Mr. Merridew alighted flanked by two burly henchmen and I pressed Holmes to let me stay with him on the train, but he insisted we keep to our original schedule. I spent an uncomfortable night tossing and turning, worried lest my friend do something brave and/or stupid.

There were no messages waiting for me the following morning, and I did not know whether that was good or bad. I had breakfast as early as I could, and the trains seemed inordinately slow as I made my way back to the capital. I reached London just after noon, and returned to Baker Street to find it almost empty. 

Almost. There was a Holmes in residence, but it was definitely the wrong one. Little wonder that Mrs. Hudson had looked so annoyed when I had seen her from the stairs. Mr. Mycroft Holmes looked decidedly shifty and my heart plummeted.

“Where is he?” I asked abruptly.

The man somehow contrived to look even shiftier, and I remembered that my gun was still in my bag. Loaded. Waste not, want not.

“We have good news on the Merridew front”, he said cheerfully. “He took a train from Charing Cross this morning but it was derailed near Dartford. Apparently the driver ignored the red flags where they were replacing worn-out rails.” 

(I would later learn that Holmes had been right about our target not wanting to risk a special train, but that his brother had got round that by having his agent go though the train before the last station and tell all the passengers that they would have to change there).

“Is the rat dead?” I asked, momentarily distracted.

“Injured but he will survive”, my unwelcome guest smiled. “Though he will not be out of his hospital bed before New Year. We can guarantee that.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. Years of dealing with less than forthcoming patients had left me with a sense of when I was being lied to or misled.

“Where. Is. Holmes?” I demanded, glaring at him.

I had never doubted that in any fight Mr. Mycroft Holmes would easily worse me. But right now I was getting increasingly angry at his lack of forthcoming. 

“Hospital”, he muttered.

“What?” I barked. “How?”

“One of Merridew's henchmen spotted him at Bristol when he got off the train”, he said, raising his hands as if in defence. They attacked him on the platform, just as the train was leaving. If it hadn't been for that stupid coat he always wears....”

I was now furious.

“This is all your fault!” I yelled. “That man does everything for you and you let this happen!”

“I cannot babysit him”, my guest said defensively. “He is my brother, not a wife!”

“Which hospital?” I almost snarled. 

“St. Philip's”, he said. “He is fine, just a little bruised. He will be back today and he will just need rest for....”

His laconic attitude was the last straw. I snarled and leaped across the room and grabbed him by his lapels, thrusting him back against the hearth. He looked startled but did not fight back.

“I nearly lost him because of you!” I snarled. “Understand this, Mycroft Holmes. If anything ever happens to him because of you, I will hunt you down and kill you! Now get out!”

He looked genuinely shocked at my anger, and twisted himself out of my grip before walking swiftly to the door. He hesitated as if about to say something, but I gave him such a look that he thought better of it, and left. Once he had gone, I sank into Holmes' chair and pulled his blanket around me as I shook in a mixture of anger and relief.

Grown men did not cry.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I telegraphed the hospital asking if I could visit, but they told me that they planned to discharge Holmes before visiting hours started that evening. Sure enough he arrived home in an ambulance not long after, and two men carried him upstairs despite his protestations. I only knew of his arrival when Mrs. Hudson opened the door for them and they carried him inside. I gestured to his fireside chair and they gently placed him in it. I tipped them and they left us alone. 

The silence was positively painful.

“You are angry with me.”

I gripped my pencil so hard, it was surprising that it did not snap. 

“One of the men saw me at Cardiff, where we all got out”, he admitted. “When he saw me again at Bristol, 'the Emperor' must have told them to make sure that I went no further.”

“Your life nearly went no further!” I growled. “Damnation, Holmes! What were you thinking?”

I looked up as I spoke and winced at the pained look on his face. I was picking on an injured, defenceless human being, and should rightly have been ashamed of myself. I got up and walked over to him, sitting in the opposite chair which I pulled forward.

“You need to take more care of yourself”, I said firmly. “London needs you.”

London did. But I was less than a year away from losing the man sat opposite me for real.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Postscriptum: Despite his efforts, Richard Merridew was not discharged from hospital until the second day of January the following year, whence he was immediately arrested. The _“Imperator Ricardus”_ had slipped out of Liverpool under the cover of darkness on the fifteenth of December, but mysteriously the repairs effected by the local shipyard failed for some reason, and she had to return to port. Bare seconds after midnight on New Year's Day, she was impounded. There was no more slave-trading in British waters. And even better, Mr. Merridew then decided to 'co-operate' with the British authorities only for him to be stabbed in a seemingly motiveless attack by a fellow inmate at the gaol where he was being held. I doubt that anyone mourned his loss, not even the Sublime Porte.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
